


Daylight Gold

by Dogsled, MistressPandora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, M/M, Wing Kink, Winged Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: It was Castiel's prowess that saved Dean Winchester from the Fire, but it was his carelessness that left Dean forever changed. It is that change that brings them closer together. And just in time to work together against a powerful faction of angels intent on hurting Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had the absolute pleasure of working with [Dogsled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled) on the 2018 Dean Cas Reverse Bang! She is an exceptionally talented artist and put together all of the stunning art you'll see throughout this story. If you're not familiar with a Reverse Bang, the art comes first, and authors get to fight over which beautiful piece they get to write for. It was positively _harrowing_ and I was dang lucky to snag the gorgeous art you'll see throughout. What really drew me in was Dogsled's style of wings and feathers. LIKE OMG! I kinda want to get the feather scene dividers she made tattooed all over my body, seriously.
> 
> Head on over to [Dogsled's Art Masterpost](https://thedogsled.tumblr.com/post/175285061958/an-art-masterpost-for-my-second-dcrb-daylight) on Tumblr and give her some love!
> 
> And of course a very fond shout-out to my fabulous beta, [spnhell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnhell/pseuds/spnhell)! She's a fantastic writer in her own right and helped me turn these few words into much, much better words. Couldn't have done it without you, JJ!

 

Castiel had not meant to fly so high. He had not intended to keep going through the clouds, past the sun, and into Heaven, but he had. He was captivated by the soul in his arms, by the way its golden aura shone in the sunlight. The brightness of it intensified as he climbed into the sky, his right hand clutching the soul tight to his chest. As Castiel flew through the Gates, the limp form in his arms awoke. He thrashed uselessly against the angel’s preternatural strength, and demanded to know what the hell was going on.

“I have gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Castiel said, as if this was an obvious statement.

The soul was skeptical. Castiel watched the mind work through the situation.

_No, this is one of Alastair’s tricks_ , the soul thought. _He’s giving me hope to take it away again_. And then the soul fell back into despair, the beautiful gold turning a sickly brown. Castiel wept and held him tighter.

“Dean Winchester, this is not a trick. You are freed from the Fire.”

Shades of halcyon formed at the edges of the brown and crept inward. It wasn’t until Castiel’s brothers and sisters began to gather around them that he realized he’d climbed too high, that he had barreled through the Gates of Heaven with a damned human soul in his arms.

Terror seized Castiel. No human should survive the trip, but here in his arms was the proof. He laid the soul on the ground and knelt beside it, eyes darting over it with worried tears. Could he blame the battle fatigue? That he’d slain scores of demons and devils to liberate the Righteous Man and it was exhaustion that let him soar straight to Heaven? No, it was his own carelessness that had destroyed what was left of this man’s soul. His orders were to return him to Earth and rebuild his body, prepare him for the coming war, for Michael. But no, he couldn’t be trusted with the task. The angel had failed and he prayed for forgiveness on his knees, knowing silence would meet his words.

The brown flickered and disappeared in a sudden burst of gold, knocking Castiel onto his back. He scrambled to a sitting position, propped on his arms and stared, mouth agape. There before him stood Dean Winchester, restored to the form of Adonis, gilded wings spread behind and above his naked body. Golden light shone through the man’s eyes and Castiel’s brothers and sisters crowded in closer to stare. He felt a new emotion, a petty human jealousy that he could not explain and scrambled to his feet to take Dean’s arm and flee.

Castiel fled. He didn’t retreat calmly like a warrior. He ran away; scared, jealous, and confused.

 

 

Years passed. Not a lot of years, but they stumbled by like a drunk on a Friday night. Castiel was a constant fixture in Dean’s renewed life. He was always there when Dean woke from a nightmare, shades of torture and blood. For a long time after returning to Earth, Dean was afraid to sleep, wary of the terror that waited for him. But it didn’t take long for Dean to understand that Cas would always be there when he bolted upright, screaming and drenched in sweat. Cas was there, at first a calm presence in a strange motel room. Then a strong hand on Dean’s arm; lately, on his head. With the increasing intimacy came increasing comfort and, though Dean loathed the nightmares, he began to despise the mornings when Cas wasn’t there.

So it was, late one morning years down the road that Dean eased into wakefulness. No gripping terror, no images of Hell. Just a sliver of golden sunlight worming its way into his eyes and the buzzing sense at the back of his neck that someone was watching him. Dean buried his face into the pillow, his arms under the flat cushion of disappointment, crushing the thing over his nose. He groaned and the pillow ate up the sound.

Sam’s voice floated into his ears. “I’ll never get used to those things.”

Dean opened his eyes and turned his head toward the sound of his brother’s voice. Draped over the edge of the bed was one enormous, gilded wing, bathed in sunlight. Another shiny new day. _Of research_ , Dean thought. He scowled at the appendage and dragged himself to a sitting position, Sam dodging primary feathers as Dean turned on the mattress to swing his feet over the side. “Me neither,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of a hand. His shoulders tensed as he stood, straining to pull his great wings as close to his body as he could, but still the tips grazed the floor, the weird texture of the cheap carpet sending uncomfortable shivers up the feathers and down his spine.

He trudged over to the coffee pot, grateful that Sam already had it percolating. The simplest things were a struggle nowadays. His back was strengthening by the week, but mornings were especially difficult. Making coffee, for instance, involved raising exhausted arms to pour out the water, and he often spilled as much as made it into the tank because his arms shook under the strain of lifting both his wings and the water.

Grunting with the effort, Dean reached up to grab a mug off the little shelf above the coffee machine. His shoulder popped, sending twitches down his right wing and he winced. Resting the coffee pot on the rim of the cup, he poured slowly, stopping when the rich goodness was half an inch from the top of the mug. The sound of fluttering wings and then Castiel was next to Dean, startling him so the carafe rattled against the burner. Dean blew out the breath he sucked in and felt a strange calmness fall over him. “Mornin’, Cas,” he said, forcing a smile. He was happy to see the angel, as always, but it was hard to smile about anything before the first sip of coffee.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was a deep rumble and Dean felt it reverberating in his chest as much as the words tickled his ears. Cas often had a habit of manifesting mere inches away from Dean, his trench coat brushing against his arm or his wings. Though it startled him, there was something comforting about the bolt of tan appearing at the edge of his vision.

Sam coughed and Dean turned around to eye his brother, who adjusted his tie. It finally dawned on Dean that Sam was dressed in his fed suit and was ready to head out for the day to work the case. The laptop and lore books were out on the table, ready for Dean. A heavy weight settled over his shoulders and he slouched under the emotional oppression. Another day stuck inside. Not in the thick of it, thinking and fighting and keeping his mind off Hell. But alone with his thoughts. Reading and researching only took up about half of his attention. The other half always seemed to find its way back to the Fire.

Dean rubbed his eyes again, yawning. He pulled his hand away with sleep crust on his fingers. Sam eyed Dean’s wings, then glanced at the bathroom door and then looked down. The brothers had the same thought from different sides of the coin. Dean thought _damn it, another shower_ and Sam had the words _poor Dean_ written all over his face. The Winchesters nodded at each other and Sam palmed the Impala keys, the jingling muffled by his large hand. And Sam was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Dean’s wings relaxed by inches, drooping along the carpet. He faced Cas and the angel stood still, otherworldly still, a patient ghost of a smile on his lips. He expected nothing from Dean, asked nothing of him. He was content to be present with the man he rescued from Hell.

They didn’t talk about Dean’s brief visit to Heaven. They never spoke of it. Dean wasn’t even sure it had happened. It was a shred of a memory, like the shades of a dream he couldn’t quite recall. Just like he never spoke of Hell to Sammy. They were Dean’s private burden, his own cross to bear and he could do it. If he could survive Alastair’s rack for decades….

Dean shuddered, his throat feeling hoarse from the scream he didn’t voice. He squeezed his eyes shut until the panic passed, feeling his breath in uninjured lungs and reminding himself that _I’m alive. I’m safe. Cas is here._

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said at last. Castiel nodded and Dean felt his eyes at his back--not on his wings--as he left the room.

The bathroom had no window, no sunlight streaming through exposing the weight on his shoulders for what it truly was, so when Dean looked in the mirror all he saw was himself--Dean Winchester, damaged human extraordinaire. No wings. No preternatural glimmer of gold behind him.

But the wings were still there, invisible and heavy on his shoulders, scraping against the cold tile of the floor as he stooped over the sink, hands gripping the unforgiving porcelain. He couldn’t explain how his wings passed through his clothes when they were visible, but they did. Cas had told him that they existed on another plane, that they weren’t really there. _But then why does my neck hurt?_ he’d asked.

Cas thought it was likely because the human form was never built to carry such a weight. _They’re a part of you, Dean. Perhaps a manifestation of your soul._

Dean blew out a breath and started the water for his shower. Undressing was always a weird sensation. He could feel his wings gliding through the fabric as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, like a phantom limb tickle. He stepped into the shower and tugged the dingy curtain closed, hissing as it went right through a wing that was draped over the side of the tub. He shuddered, wondering what sort of horrific germs he could be exposing himself to, deciding that he didn’t want to know. He hated to spend a lot of time in the shower anymore, always feeling cramped because of his wings in such a tight space. So Dean made quick work of soaping up, rinsing as he went. With a resigned sigh he scrubbed at his back. This part was always uncomfortable, the joint where the wings came out of his body sensitive in such a way that too much stimulation went straight to his cock. It weirded him out that something that _wasn’t really there_ could cause such a reaction in him. He hated it, couldn’t stand to touch himself there for very long. It felt like his body was betraying him every time.

Drying off had a similar effect, and half the time Dean pulled a shirt on with his back still damp. This time, Dean stepped out of the shower and scrubbed at his hair and face with the rough motel towel. Bracing himself, he flipped the towel over behind him and rushed through drying his back, worrying his lower lip between his teeth to suppress a moan. He tossed the towel onto the floor with more force than was necessary. He stepped into boxer shorts and pulled them up over his hips and threw the bathroom door open to face the day.

Cas was exactly as Dean had left him, waiting by the coffee pot, that ghost of a smile brightening his eyes as Dean emerged from the bathroom, steam roiling out into the chilly room behind him. Yesterday’s jeans were draped over a chair, belt still through the loops. He crossed the room without a word to Castiel, feeling his gaze follow him. Dean knew Cas watched him tug on the pants with a tilted head and questioning eyes. Pants zipped and belt buckled, Dean reached for his duffle, going for a clean shirt, but he paused. It was him and Cas, afterall. And after that shower Dean didn’t want anything touching his back. The drapes were open, bathing the room in sunlight and sending his wings to glittering around him, on the corporeal side. With a shrug he picked up his coffee cup and sat in front of the computer, bare chested and wings on display.

“You can sit down, Cas,” he muttered without turning around. “You don’t have to stand there. Make yourself comfortable, buddy.” He nudged the second chair out from under the table in additional invitation.

Cas lowered himself into the seat, moving with a slow precision that no human could match. Dean found it oddly comforting, but he still felt the freak with his wings on display.

“Can I… can I see them?” Dean asked, meeting Cas’s gaze and holding it a little too long.

Cas nodded. “Of course, Dean. If that would put you at ease.” He rolled his shoulders and behind him manifested wings as large as Dean’s.

Castiel’s wings were a beautiful sapphire with black streaks. A long stripe of white feathers split the wings length-wise like a blue jay. Dean stared, unashamed. His eyes traced the flight feathers and followed the white stripe to the tips that spread on either side of Cas’s body. In moments his shoulders relaxed and Dean’s lips melted into a warm smile of gratitude and brotherhood. They were alike. Dean wasn’t alone. Another long stare into Castiel’s eyes during which the angel tilted his head like a bird, eyes still full of undying patience.

Dean let his wings relax behind him and dove into his work.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Castiel was away from the Winchesters, away from Dean. He spent time in Heaven and scoured the Earth for answers to the enigma that was Dean Winchester. How did the Righteous Man become afflicted with flightless wings? Perhaps in time the man could learn to fly, but then he hated flying. Castiel frowned to think that they would never soar together in the remote places of the world, solid and free from gawking eyes.

Whatever magic brought on Dean’s transformation, Castiel had to find the reverse. Not that he wanted to cure his charge of what made him so beautiful, so unique, but Dean hated his wings. Every time he said so, Castiel swallowed down his sorrow and fixed his expression into a neutral look of what he hoped was understanding. Father hadn’t designed humans to grow wings, they weren’t built for it, and Dean was no exception.

Except his muscular shoulders and back were growing stronger by the day, and everyday Castiel sensed the pain and fatigue Dean felt lessen by degrees.

Nonetheless, Dean belonged in the sun with his brother, saving people, hunting things. Fighting the good fight. Castiel knew that Dean worried for Sam and loathed the days he spent cooped up in the dank motel rooms, wrestling with his desire to help and fear of being seen under the sun’s rays.

Castiel loved Dean’s wings. They reminded him of the bright halcyon swirls of his soul. But if removing them would make Dean happy, Castiel would be content to treasure their memory. And so he plunged into the archives of Heaven, searching for a cure. But after a year of searching, Castiel began to lose hope.

Dean hated it when Cas was gone, off to Lord-knows-where doing fuck-knows-what. Sunny days were the worst to be alone. His choices were to bear the weight of his wings in the sunlit motel room, or cower behind heavy drapes in the dark, neither of which were fun ways to spend an otherwise beautiful day. Dean began to resent the sun, started to loathe it’s uncaring path across a blue sky.

Lately, Dean had begun to see glimpses of Castiel’s stunning wings all the time, even when they weren’t out of wherever the lucky bastard tucked them. Sam couldn't see them though, and Dean couldn’t figure out why. But at least with Cas around Dean felt less like a freak of nature, less strange, less alien. He felt alone on days when Sam hung around, staring with pity in his eyes when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. Dean resented that the most, the sympathy, however well-intentioned it was. 

On cloudy days, Dean found himself torn between wanting to get out there and fight beside his brother while also wanting to enjoy this strange bond growing between himself and Cas. Well, at least he liked to imagine something was there. Because, let’s face it, Cas was only sticking around because he felt responsible for Dean.

It was a dreary, overcast day. The clouds obliterated any shred of sunlight in a grey hopelessness. It was the only kind of day that Dean dared venture out of the motel. Castiel followed dutifully behind the Winchesters as they strolled down the street of some midwestern city. Castiel wasn’t sure where they were exactly and he didn’t care, he was content to share in the quiet moment.

The trouble was that the grey sky was relentless and wore heavily on Dean. Castiel saw it in the set of his shoulders, which grew increasingly hunched and tense as the day went on and he sensed Dean’s mood fall and sour. Now Dean was in such a state that Sam was reacting in kind. The brothers didn’t snap at each other, but they also didn’t speak, such was their funk. 

Castiel felt the sun sinking low in the dark sky. The clouds began to thin, and he wondered if perhaps the night would be clear enough that the moonlight might chase away Dean’s sadness. Instead, a strong gust of wind blew in from the south and cleared a swatch of pink sky and orange sun, revealing Dean’s golden wings to the world. A handful of people on the crowded street stopped and gawked, one woman marking herself with the sign of the Cross.

Not far away was an old church with broken windows and a locked door and the brothers rushed for it, Sam rearing back to kick the door in. The wood splintered around the handles as the three darted inside. Sam held the door shut while Castiel helped Dean shove a pew in front of it. Sunlight sliced through the sanctuary, revealing Dean’s wings in stripes of gold. The brothers exchanged worried looks, a trace of sympathy or pity furrowing Sam’s brows as he stared at Dean.

Dean hung his head, shame rolling off of him in heavy waves. He finally sank into a pew, wings shimmering where they drooped over the back of the bench, a beautiful picture of defeat. Sam sat next to Dean and after a moment’s hesitation laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder, awkwardly avoiding his feathers. 

“It’ll be fine,” Sam whispered in the dusty air. “The sun will set soon and then we’ll be on our way.”

It finally occurred to Castiel that not everyone on the street saw Dean’s wings. Dean had always been so careful about staying out of the sunlight that Castiel had never taken notice of others’ reactions before. He pondered this new information while the Winchesters brooded in silence, close but no longer touching.

“Vessels,” Castiel breathed finally.

Sam and Dean turned in their seats as one, curious expressions on their handsome faces.

“Only vessels can see your wings, Dean. That’s why not everyone on the street noticed when the sunlight hit you.” He paused, letting this sink in. “Every person who stared at you was an angelic vessel, or at least had the potential to be.”

Sam stared at Dean, mouth agape. “Huh. That fits. We’re both meant to be vessels for archangels, so that explains why we can see them.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Great. So I’m only a freak to some people. That’s fantastic.”

The three remained in silence until the sun no longer filtered through the broken stained glass. Sam looked over his shoulder toward the barricaded door, then back to Dean. “Shall we?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and nodded as he stood. Working together, Sam and Dean shoved the pew away from the door enough that Sam could open it.

Time stopped. Castiel felt the presence of his brothers and sisters the moment that Sam laid his hand on the door handle and began to pull. He drew his blade and shouted, “Sam, no!”

But it was too late. The doors flew open, throwing Sam back until his legs hit the back of the pew and he stumbled. An angel burst through the door, catching Sam in a strong grip. With a wing beat they were gone.

“Sam!” Dean shouted. 

Three more angels came through the doors, blades drawn and eyes on Dean. Castiel put himself between him and the angels, who fanned out and charged. 

Castiel’s heart broke as he stabbed the first through his vessel’s chest, Grace exploding out of him in a wave of tragic power. Behind him came the sounds of Dean struggling, grappling with another angel. Castiel whirled around and his blade caught her through the back. Dean covered his face with an arm against the light surging out of her body as she perished. 

Finding himself the last angel standing, the third of Castiel’s siblings took to the air and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

“Shit,” Dean swore. He turned to Cas whose face was a mix of grief and concern. “Help me find him. We have to get him back.”

“We will, Dean.”

“Can’t you tell where they went?”

Cas looked off to the distance, an otherworldly stillness coming over him and he closed his eyes. After what felt like an eternity the angel shook his head. “No. I don’t have the connection with the angels who took him that I need for that. I’m sorry.”

Dean swallowed down a lump of panic and despair and focused on the problem. “What about a spell?”

Cas did the weird staring thing again and nodded. “Yes. I know one that uses the blood of a person to find them. We don’t have everything we need here. But perhaps in the car?”

Dean dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Let’s go.”

They needed a compass, knife, holy oil, fire, salt, and a silver bowl. The bowl was the most difficult to acquire. Dean picked the lock of a curio shop while Cas watched the street behind him. The shop was a mess and it took a full ten minutes to find a bowl made of real silver. Dean smashed the glass case with a sleeved elbow and snatched the bowl, the two of them making a hasty getaway.

The spell was simple enough and Cas remembered it well, rattling off instructions while dragging away the two bodies on the floor. Dean cast a circle of salt and poured out a bit of holy oil into the silver bowl in the middle of the circle. Striking a match, he lit the oil, careful to avoid burning himself.

“Cleanse the compass with the flame,” Cas said and Dean did as he was told, dangling the brass compass by its chain, passing it through the holy fire. “Now prick your finger and draw a cross over the glass corresponding to the cardinal directions.”

Dean paused, knife pressed to his finger. “You sure this will work with my blood?”

Cas nodded, eyes meeting Dean’s for a long handful of heartbeats.

Dean shrugged and increased the pressure until blood appeared under his blade. He dropped the knife to the floor and drew a cross from north to south, west to east on the compass. The needle spun to point to Dean’s chest.

“Now break the circle,” Cas directed. Dean scuffed his boot through the salt in front of him and his ears popped as the magic was released. He stared at the compass. The needle shuddered then began to spin. It spun and spun, faster and faster. Cas crossed the distance between them and peered over Dean’s shoulder. He frowned. “That’s not good.”

“What’s that mean?” Dean asked, fear for his brother causing his voice to quake.

“The angels have warded against the spell.” Cas looked away, back to the door, and sighed. “It means they haven’t finished setting their trap yet.”

Dean shoved the compass in his jacket pocket. “What about Heaven? Is there someone there who will help you? Maybe they took Sam there.”

Cas shook his head. “They won’t help me. And I doubt that’s where they took Sam.”

Anger boiled over inside Dean. “But they might.”

Blue eyes narrowed and focused in on him. “I won’t leave you.”

Dean balled his hands into fists at his sides and ground his teeth. “Now you won’t leave me? For the last two years you disappear to who-the-hell-knows-where constantly. But now that I ask for your help you won’t leave me? What gives, man?”

Cas’s stare doubled in intensity. “What part of ‘they’re setting a trap’ escapes your understanding? Everything I’ve done, the ties with Heaven I’ve cut, I’ve done for you.”

Dean’s fist lashed out before the awareness of his intent actually surfaced. Cas stumbled back half a step and Dean hit him again, a left jab this time, and blood trickled from the angel’s nose. He threw punch after punch and Cas took it, accepted the beating without returning a single blow. Finally, when Dean’s knuckles were bloodied and bruised, Cas held his biceps in a crushing grip. Dean pounded the side of his fists against Cas’s chest, gasping for breath, tears in his eyes. Cas just pulled him closer, wrapping strong arms around him until Dean stopped struggling, stopped fighting, finally exhausted and weeping pitiably. He cried for his brother, for his own helplessness, and for the shame of taking his ire out on his best friend. Dean allowed Cas to hold him close, his sore fingers clutching at that trench coat that meant safety.

“Cas, what do we do?”

“We wait.” His voice rumbled through his chest into Dean’s ear. “They’ll be in contact, either with you directly or with me through angel radio.”

Dean pushed away to look Cas in the eye for the first time since before the fight started. “Angel radio. Anything there?”

Cas tilted his head for a moment then shook it. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean let out a wordless shout of frustration, kicking a pew with the heel of his boot. It teetered with a satisfying clatter on the flagstones but didn’t fall.

“You should rest,” Cas said, ignoring the outburst. “I’ll watch over you.”

Dean sighed and nodded, his invisible wings feeling heavy. He eyed the narrow pews. No way would he get any sleep on one of those. He stomped to a wall under a stained glass window and sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes but of course it was uncomfortable. His wings felt crushed and worry creased his brow within moments.

A rustle of clothing and Cas was seated next to him. Dean opened his eyes and Cas patted his thigh in the universal signal for let me be your pillow. He hesitated for a moment, warring with himself. Part of him wanted this, craved the intimacy with Cas, but part of him was chicken shit. Finally the first part won out and Dean shifted, lying on the floor with his head in Cas’s lap. Cas laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other finding his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It was frighteningly intimate but comforting, and soon Dean was asleep.

Dean awoke shortly after the sun had begun coloring the cracks in the windows pink. Castiel had watched over him all night, kept his rest dreamless. He’d hardly stirred all night, his head resting on Castiel’s lap, forehead smooth and peaceful. Dean rolled onto his back, head still pillowed on Castiel’s leg, and looked up at him with heavily lidded green eyes. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean yawned. “Mornin’, Cas.” Realization threw his eyes open wide and he scrambled to sit up. “Morning. Why’d you let me sleep all night? What about Sam?”

Castiel tipped his head to one side. “You needed the rest. And I have monitored your phone and angel radio and there has been no contact.”

Dean leaned against the wall, sunlight creeping toward the toes of his boots and he banged the back of his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “And now I can’t go outside. Great. Just great.” He climbed to his feet and stomped across the distance to the first pew in a shadow. He passed through a ray of sunlight on the way, gilded wings shining for a moment.

Dean kept his seat for about thirty minutes before the sunlight reached him and his wings became visible. So he scooted down the pew out of the light. Castiel watched the sunlight chase Dean around the sanctuary for the better part of two hours before he gave up and slumped into a pew, golden wings draped over the back behind him, head hung in defeat.

Castiel saw Dean’s wings in the light and noticed for the first time how dry and mangled they appeared. He felt a stab of guilt for never teaching Dean how to care for them. Largely they didn’t need it, but they seemed to be growing more and more corporeal the longer Dean remained in the sunlight and with this development Castiel saw the need for grooming. Dean’s shoulders twitched and his wings shuddered, obvious signs of discomfort. He stood from his position still under the window and crossed the church to sit behind Dean, who paid him no notice.

“Your wings need grooming,” he said. “I’ll help.”

Dean tensed at the statement. “I don’t know about that, Cas.”

“I should have shown you how to do this a long time ago.”

“They’re, ah, sensitive,” Dean said, still not turning around, eyes off in the distance somewhere.

Castiel nodded. “I’m sure they are. But you’ll feel better when they’re clean and oiled.”

Dean sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “They do suck right now.”

“At first this will feel… rather strange.” Castiel reached his hands up to the base of Dean’s wings and gingerly exposed the oil gland there, pressing slowly with a thumb until the heady fragrance of magnolia blossoms coated his waiting fingers. It wasn’t quite the scent that Castiel was expecting, but it suited Dean and made him think of a bright, spring day. Castiel found himself frowning, saddened that Dean loathed his wings so much that he couldn’t venture into the daylight. He thought back on the day he’d rescued his soul from Hell, how radiant it had been, like a miniature sun shining with its own light. He pressed against the gland again and Dean shuddered, sucking in an unsteady breath. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, Cas. Fine. Just feels… yeah, we’ll go with ‘strange.’”

Castiel began at the top of Dean’s left wing and worked the oil into the feathers , arranging them just so. It would take most of the day, so parched and mussed were his feathers. But perhaps it would take Dean’s mind off their current predicament. Not off Sam, surely, but it would at least give him something else to focus on. Grooming another’s wings was an act of closeness; Castiel had only done so for a small handful of his dearest siblings in his long life. While it didn’t have the same meaning for Dean, Castiel’s chest swelled that his friend would allow him so near for such an extended period of time.

He worked in silence, focused on his task and content to touch Dean’s beautiful wings. Dean remained quiet, his shoulders finally relaxing by degrees as Castiel worked, eventually leaning his back against the pew, wings no longer twitching and fluttering. He was a third of the way done with the first wing when Dean let out a soft moan, a happy little sound that made Castiel smile to himself.

“That feels better already. Thanks, Cas,” Dean mumbled.

“You’re welcome.”

A long pause with only the papery sound of feathers rubbing together. Dean snorted, voice drowsy. “I bet you say that to all your feathered friends.”

Castiel thought carefully about his answer before he spoke. “I’ve only offered to groom a few of my brothers and sisters.”

More silence. 

“Why’s that?”

Castiel was slow to answer, his voice low, not wanting to spoil the moment. “It’s an act of devotion among angels. Remember that in my true form I have six wings. The two you see are merely the ones I use for flight. Grooming a seraph takes a very long time.”

Minutes ticked by, and Castiel began to worry that he had said something he shouldn’t have.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes there is.” Dean took a deep breath, blew it out. “What I said last night… I was out of line. You’re always there when I need you. I was just angry.” Several heartbeats passed in silence. “I hate being helpless.”

“We will get Sam back. I promise.”

“I know, it’s just...” Dean broke off with another sigh. “I shouldn’t have come back. These things,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, “they’re the reason he’s in danger. It’s my fault.”

Castiel frowned, oily hands frozen in midair. “Dean, I told you before and I’ll tell you again: you deserved to be saved.”

“But at what cost? Huh? You’re estranged from your family, Sammy’s in trouble.” He buried his face in his hands, shoulders slumping. “You were both better off without me.”

Castiel arranged the last feather on Dean’s left wing and stood, walking around Dean’s pew to sit next to him. He laid one hand on his shoulder. “If we could live it over, I would choose you over my family. Every single time. Was I always an outcast? No. Did I ever fit in? Not really. I was destined to turn my back on Heaven. But more importantly, I turned toward you.”

Dean’s hands fell away, and he looked up to meet Castiel’s gaze. “What are you saying?”

“My very long life finally has meaning because you’re in it.”

Dean licked his lips, their shoulders touching. “You said that when angels take care of each other’s wings it’s an act of devotion. Does that mean… does that mean you’re… devoted to me?”

Castiel nodded. “I always have been.”

Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel’s lips then back up to his eyes, leaning in close. “Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

His vessel’s heart rate quickened at the proposition. “Not at all.”

Dean surged forward then and brushed his lips against Castiel’s, a soft and chaste gesture. It was over too soon and they hovered a hairsbreadth apart, breathing in the essence of each other.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean whispered. “I have for months.”

“I’m here. I always will be.”

Dean chuckled. “Not what I meant.”

Realization dawned on Castiel and his eyes widened. “Oh.”

Dean closed the distance and kissed him again, this time with parted lips and the gentle scratch of stubble as their chins touched. The rest happened fast. A rain of clothes left puddles of fabric all over the floor and Dean dragged Castiel from the pew to the relative cushion of their discarded garments. Dean hovered over him, halcyon wings glittering in the sunlight that poured through a broken window. “Let me see them,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.

Castiel struggled to focus on the simple task of revealing his wings, so distracting was the warmth of Dean’s naked body over his bare skin. With an effort of will he did it, his wings spread wide and pressed to the cold flagstones beneath them.

Dean sat up, straddling Castiel’s thighs and stared down at him with adoration and awe in his green eyes. “So beautiful.” Dean peppered kisses up his stomach, chest, throat, lips, and then reversed course again, his breath hot over Castiel’s cock. Dean took him into his mouth, urging him to hardness, while the silky smooth shaft of Dean’s erection brushed the angel’s leg. Too soon the heat of Dean’s mouth was gone, kissing his way up his body again, one hand under Castiel’s back, tracing the joint where his skin gave way to feathers.

“Aha,” Dean said, a triumphant smirk on his full lips, his fingers pressing into Castiel’s oil gland. Castiel shivered, the intimate sensation taking on new meaning for him and he knew then that no one else would ever touch him like that again, only Dean. Only Dean. He repeated the thought to himself over and over. Only Dean. Only Dean.

The smell of sandalwood hit him, the scent of his own wing oil as Dean massaged it onto his cock. Then Dean eased himself onto his erection, the tight heat of Dean’s hole enveloping him and both men moaned together. “Sit up,” Dean instructed.

Bracing himself with his hands on the cold floor, Castiel sat up and they clutched at each other, fingers digging into feathers. Then Dean began to move, an easy gyration of his hips that sent all manner of sparks through Castiel’s body. Their mouths crashed in hungry kisses, bare chests crushed together, intent to get closer, closer, so close. “How does that feel?”

Castiel gasped and nodded. “I believe the human term is ‘heavenly’ but we both know that’s propaganda.”

Dean laughed. “Touch me, Cas,” he said, breath ragged. When Castiel didn’t move, Dean took his hand and brought it to his cock between them. He guided Castiel through stroking him, squeezing his hand until the angel did the same. “Yeah, just like that.” Dean didn’t move his hand away, rather he entwined their fingers so they worked his cock together.

It was so good, so good, and Castiel found those exact words spilling out of his mouth in a chant.

“‘S awesome. We fit together,” Dean whispered. “Feel so perfect inside me.” He sucked Castiel’s bottom lip into his mouth, nipped at it, a moan escaping between his teeth. “Getting close.”

Castiel gasped for breath. “I could--ah--I could do this for hours, days with you.”

Dean laughed. “Easy there, cowboy. We’ll try that next time.”

“Next time?”

Dean nodded. “There will definitely be a next time.”

Castiel claimed another kiss. “I would like that.”

“Good.” Dean sucked in a ragged breath. “So close.” He picked up the pace, their bodies crashing together in an erotic rhythm. Hot come shot out of Dean’s cock, painting their stomachs white. “Fuck, Cas!” he cried, eyes squeezed shut.

Castiel felt his words the same way he felt prayers, deep in his Grace. He was overcome with lust then, toppling them over so he was on top of Dean, rutting into him with abandon as he chased his own orgasm to the edge. “Dean!” he called as he spilled inside his lover, Grace surging. Dean’s fingers clawed into Castiel’s hair and pulled him down into a kiss.

They lay there, tangled together on the stone floor, breathing each other’s air and drinking in kisses full of lazy passion. Eventually Dean pulled away, looking for all the world like it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Could you maybe do the other wing now? I’m feeling lopsided and itchy.”

Castiel planted another kiss on Dean’s lips. “Of course.”

They climbed back onto a pew, not bothering to dress, and Castiel set to work. The afternoon sun sank in the sky by the time Castiel finished grooming Dean’s right wing, and they shone in the hazy sunlight. The feathers were perfectly arranged and glossy and Castiel couldn’t help running his fingers through them. The second wing went much faster than the first.

The tension had slowly returned to Dean’s body as the day went on, worry creasing his brow. He was growing impatient and needed to do something. “We should try the spell again,” Castiel suggested.

Dean nodded and returned to the salt circle, recasting it. Castiel kept his seat in the pew as he added more oil to the bowl and lit it, cleansing the compass in the flame. He pricked his finger, drew the cross, and after a deep breath scuffed open the circle with a bare foot. “I got something.”

Castiel was across the room in a flash. The needle pointed away from Dean, then turned a few degrees, then paused, and turned again. “They’re moving him,” Castiel said.

Dean cast forlorn eyes to the sunlight pouring through the stained glass windows, then stared down at the compass in his hands. He looked so young, so fragile to Castiel, yet his eyes held pain beyond his years. Castiel carded gentle fingers through gilded feathers until Dean turned his fierce gaze up to his face. “We have to go now,” Dean said, resolute.

Castiel nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

They hurried to dress, Castiel almost forgetting to stow his wings on the angelic plane. Dean took a steadying breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the daylight on purpose, for the first time in years.

Castiel tried to shield his lover from the scrutiny of the few people in the street that could see Dean’s wings, but ultimately failed. When the sleek lines of the Impala came into view, they picked up the pace.

And were both hit from behind. Castiel’s world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last image is the original art that Dogsled did, what I got to brawl over. It wasn't a gif then, so imagine how amazed I was when she sent this to me. IT'S SO PRETTY!!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean awoke dizzy and retching, vision blurry. The room spun and his arms weren’t working right. They were over his head and when he looked up, saw his wrists were cuffed to a pipe. Sam's voice hissed from behind him. “Dean? You okay?”

“Peachy. How about you? In one piece?” He strained against his bonds to see his brother. He was beaten and bloody but conscious. Rage bubbled up anew.

Sam scoffed. “Mostly.”

Turning to his right he found Cas similarly bound, arms over his head, jaw set and eyes alight with smitey anger. Dean followed his line of sight to see a trio of angels staring at Dean with disgust. It was then that Dean realized he was standing in a sun beam and his wings were on full display.

“It's a pity you're going to be awake for this,” said an angel with his blade drawn. “It's going to be very painful.”

“Let us go, you dick,” Dean spat.

“Ion what are you doing?” Cas asked, voice scary calm, considering how pissed he looked.

“That... abomination… he can help us,” Ion answered with a sneer.

“Yeah, not happening,” Dean said. “Don't you bastards ever think of just asking? Or is assault and battery the only language you speak?”

“Think of it, Castiel,” Ion went on. “Fewer and fewer pray for us every year and it is difficult to find a suitable vessel. Imagine, we could affirm their faith and determine if they could hold us, simultaneously.”

“So, you’re just gonna, what? Keep me on a leash?” Dean shook his head. “No thanks.”

Ion’s lips spread in a feral grin. “Nothing so vulgar.” He paused like an over-produced reality show. “We don’t need you, only your wings.” He brandished his blade. “We’re going to cut them off. And then we’re going to kill you all.”

“No!” Castiel shouted, straining against his handcuffs that Dean realized were etched in Enochian sigils, rendering his struggles useless.

Ion stalked across the distance between himself and Dean, his angel blade glittering in the sunlight. Dean’s rage reached boiling point and his vision flashed a bluish white, wings shooting out around him, angled for Ion’s shoulders. With a cry and an effort of will the mundane handcuffs snapped, the squeal of metal echoing off the concrete walls. He charged Ion, who staggered back, eyes wide. Dean drove him into the far wall, one hand going for the angel’s free wrist, the other wrestling the blade from his hand. Ion gasped. “How?” 

Flipping the blade with a flick of his wrist, jaw set in a tight line, he stabbed his captor through the chest. Blue-white Grace fire poured from his eyes and mouth, burnt wings scorching the wall behind him. Dean let the vessel crumple to the ground, lifeless.

Strong arms seized Dean from behind, another angel come to avenge Ion. He gripped the blade tight and thrust it behind him. The wretched scream and flash of light over his shoulder told him that he struck home.

“Drop!” Sam yelled and Dean sank immediately into a crouch as another angel blade slashed through the air where his neck had just been. He kicked a leg out to the side and tripped the attacking angel, bringing his stolen blade through her chest as soon as she hit the ground. Leaping to his feet, Dean dashed to where Cas was cuffed to the pipe above his head. He swung the angel blade through the air in a high arc and sliced cleanly through the chain, Cas’s arms falling free. He took the blade from Dean’s hand and stalked off to dispatch the remaining angels.

Dean worked open Sam’s handcuffs while his younger brother stared, bloodied mouth agape. “How--how’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Dean asked, eyes roving over Sam’s body, taking stock of injuries and shaking his head. His jaw hurt from how hard he clenched it. Fucking angels.

“Snap those cuffs.” Sam rubbed his wrists and rolled his shoulders with a wince. “And… are your eyes glowing?”

Dean shrugged.

“Well, I mean, now they’re not. But I swear they were before. It reminded me of…”

Castiel stomped back into the room, posture stiff and blade gripped by knuckles turning white. “We should go,” he said. Tossing the blade to his left hand, he pressed two fingers of his right to Sam’s forehead. Sam sucked in a sharp breath and stood a little taller, the cuts and bruises that peppered his face and body fading into memory, the pain leaving his eyes.

Dean rifled through Ion’s pockets until he came up with the keys to Cas’s Enochian handcuffs. Once free, Castiel led them into the waning sunlight, Dean’s wings be damned.

Since Ion’s faction had captured them, Dean, Castiel, and Sam kept on the move. They traveled at night when they would draw the least amount of attention to themselves, holing up in seedier and seedier motel rooms by day.

Castiel stood watch as Dean unlocked the door to their current refuge. Sam wore a displeased scowl and complained about the establishment offering an hourly rate. Castiel didn’t understand why he was so upset, as this seemed like a convenient feature given they would only be staying for about 12 hours, stealing away in the night before the angels could find them.

They locked the door behind them and Dean threw his car keys across the room. They collided with the wall and fell to the dingy floor with a clatter. “I’m sick of running!” he shouted, hands scrubbing through his hair as he paced the narrow room, visible strips of his golden wings flared behind him.

“We cannot take on all of Heaven,” Castiel reminded him. “We do not know how many angels are in this faction that wish to take your wings. For all we know, they may be legion.”

Dean rounded on him, face road-weary and drawn with anger. “But we can’t do our job while we’re on the run like this.”

“Dean’s right,” Sam said, voice calm. “We can’t hide and hunt at the same time. It’s better if we face this head-on.”

Castiel addressed both of his friends but he eyes remained fixed on Dean. “I cannot effectively protect you from a foe we can’t number.” He feared Dean’s reaction to that, feared his ire. They hadn’t been alone since that day in the abandoned church, and though they stole glances and tender touches outside of Sam’s gaze, now Castiel worried that Dean would reject him.

Instead, Dean’s face softened and he closed the distance between them, his hands on Castiel’s arms. Even through his many layers of clothing he felt the gentle, soothing circles Dean drew with his thumbs. “We’ll protect each other. There’s no one else I’d rather fight beside than you and Sam.”

Castiel sighed, his eyes flicking to Sam, who watched their exchange with narrowed eyes. “Alright,” he said, turning his attention back to Dean. “After you rest, we will take the fight to them.”

Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s in their first kiss since the church. It sent sparks through his vessel and he couldn’t help running his fingers through the sparkling feathers of Dean’s wing.

They pulled apart and exchanged warm smiles. Sam’s voice came from the other side of the room. “Wait, are you two…?”

Dean chuckled and nodded, facing his brother. “Yeah. Yeah I guess we are.”

Castiel searched Sam’s face, finding only a smile that grew brighter the longer he stared. “Are you...okay with this, Sam?”

“Are you kidding? The only thing I’m not okay with is how long it took you two idiots to figure this out,” Sam said. “Of course! I’m more than okay with it!”

Dean’s hands found Castiel’s and squeezed.

Sam’s eyes widened, realization dawning on his face. “Do you think it has something to do with how you snapped those cuffs? Or why your eyes were glowing?”

Dean leaned back on his heels and gave a slow nod, one hand scrubbing his jaw as he turned back to Castiel. “Could I have absorbed some of your Grace when we, ah…?”

Castiel cocked his head to the side as he stared into Dean’s eyes. “It is possible.”

For several heartbeats no one said anything.

“Hey, do you want me to get my own room?” Sam asked.

Castiel and Dean exchanged a long look through which an entire conversation passed without words. Dean gave his brother a sideways glance finally. “Do you mind?”

Sam thrust out his hands, palms out, and side-stepped to the door. “Not at all! You two just enjoy your day. We’ll charge into battle later.” The door shut behind him, and Dean and Castiel were alone.

Dean kissed him again, deeper this time, lips parted and hungry, and steered them to the nearest bed. Castiel allowed Dean to shove him back onto the bed, where he landed with a bounce and a squeal of protesting mattress springs. His lover climbed over him, skimming their bodies against one another. Castiel sank his fingers into Dean’s hair, leaving it beautifully mussed, and pulled him close.

They breathed in deep gasps, hands roaming, shoving at clothes. Dean laid on top of Castiel with most of his weight and nibbled on his ear. When he spoke, his breathy whisper sent chills through Castiel’s frame.

“Let me see them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I hope you enjoyed this humble little story, but more importantly, I hope you enjoyed the ART! In case you didn't make it over to [Dogsled's Tumblr post](https://thedogsled.tumblr.com/post/175285061958/an-art-masterpost-for-my-second-dcrb-daylight), please do so now and show her some love! She was so amazing to work with and I'd really love to collaborate with her again. Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated!!! :-)


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